


Street Dance

by WanderingAlice



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt "street performer AU". Eggsy makes his living on the streets, dancing in front of a tailor's shop for whatever change people feel like tossing in his hat. Harry passes by in the mornings, and is enthralled with the young dancer. Unfortunately, Merlin makes a mistake that just might cost Eggsy his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [This idea](http://wanderingalicewrites.tumblr.com/post/140376596812/hartwinorlose-i-get-the-sense-that-eggsy-would) broke a bad case of writer's block. It's not the best thing I've ever done, but I'm sick of staring at it, and it's not terrible. I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to let me know what you think! I may not reply to all comments right away (thanks to a massive case of anxiety), but I do read and appreciate every one. Thanks for reading!

It’s hot as balls outside, and Eggsy is sweating bullets. It’s the kind of day where ice cream and air con sound like the best ideas in the world. Unfortunately, Eggsy doesn’t have access to them. Dean kicked him out a month ago, and since then he’s been living on the streets. It sucks, he’s not gonna say it doesn’t, but at least he doesn’t have to watch his mum being hit whenever the asshole is in a bad mood. And his own collection of bruises is almost completely faded now. 

It took a while to figure out how to keep himself fed, but he’s just about worked it out now. Getting a job isn’t working, he’s trying, but somehow Dean or his asshole buddies find a way to sabotage it every time he gets close. But dancing? That’s something he’s always been good at. So he picks out a busy street corner, and sets up shop, his ball cap laid out on the ground in front of him, phone beside it blasting his dancing music. 

He’s even got routines. It’s just the one to start with, something he’d been playing with just as a hobby. But a couple weeks in he’s got five songs choreographed, and is working on two more. The dancing is relaxing. When he’s paying attention to the music, everything else kind of fades into the background. It’s just him, and the beat, and getting the movements just right. 

It pays surprisingly well, too, he’s found out. If he picks the right corner, he can make enough to feed himself at least. Sometimes he can even treat himself to a sweet or a day off. Or, if he’s had a  _very_  good week and budgets well, he can rent a cheap motel room for a night in a real bed and a decent shower. 

His favorite corner is by a row of tailor shops. He’s not sure why, but he always makes the most money there. He’s not sure why nobody else has figured it out, but he doesn’t have to fight for this corner like he did for a few other profitable ones near the restaurants and coffee shops. Whatever the reason, he’s grateful. It means he doesn’t have to worry so much about being the first one there in the mornings. 

The first day he set up there he wasn’t sure he’d make that much, but his usual corner was taken. He started out with a fast-paced number that had him panting at the close, leaving him too focused on the dance to pay attention to how many people have walked past or stopped to look. When the music stopped, he looked up to see a gentleman -that’s really the only word he can think of to describe the man- in a suit. The guy was clearly loaded, but he wasn’t looking down his nose at Eggsy. In fact, he seemed almost impressed. He met Eggsy’s eyes for just a second, and Eggsy had the fleeting thought that he had nice eyes. Nice eyes. Hell. That’s not something he would normally think about a random bloke on the street, but there it was. And then, the man nodded slightly to him, and turned and walked away. Eggsy watched him, spellbound, until he turned into one of the tailor shops near by. 

The gentleman became a regular part of Eggsy’s mornings after that. Eggsy never saw him leave money, but some times he’d hand him a coffee or a bagel, or, on one occasion, a full breakfast from a take-out place down the street. Eggsy learned his name was Harry, and he worked at the tailor shop. Eggsy wasn’t sure that was the entire story, but he did go into the shop every morning. Eggsy never saw him come out, but the place probably had a back exit or something. In any case, Harry was reliable, and at the end of the day Eggsy would always find more money in his hat than the day before. 

He also liked talking to Harry. It was never for long, maybe ten, fifteen minutes every morning. But dammit, he looked forward to seeing that small smile Harry gave him in greeting, and hearing his smooth voice rolling over him like butter. He might have developed a small crush on the man, but he isn’t telling anyone. It’s just… he’s never rude. Never looks down on him for his accent or his clothes or what he does for a living. He’s kind. Thoughtful, like the day it rains and he gives Eggsy his umbrella. Just mysterious enough to be interesting, without sending off warning bells. He’s everything Eggsy’s always wanted in a bloke, but he’s got a fancy education, a steady job, and a posh accent. He’s worlds above Eggsy’s league, and Eggsy doesn’t even know why he’s spending any time at all with someone who doesn’t even have a shitty apartment to call his own.

All of that brings us to today, hotter than balls, humid as hell, and, for the first time since Eggsy’s been at this corner, no Harry. By noon, he hasn’t even made half of his usual take, and there’s still no Harry. By dinner, he’s got enough to buy himself a soda, but that’s about it. And still no Harry. By ten, his stomach feels like it’s eating itself, and still no Harry. He knows he’s not going to make any more money tonight, it’s late and most people are home or on their way there now, but he stays for just a little while longer.

At ten-thirty, a tall, bald man in glasses exits the tailor shop. It’s strange, because Eggsy is pretty sure the shop is closed, and he’s never seen this man go in or out before. He makes his way over to where Eggsy is resting with his back against the trash can on the corner, and, to Eggsy’s confusion, stops in front of him.

“Eggsy,” he says, and it’s a statement, not a question.

“How d’you know my name?” Eggsy demands, a bad feeling settling into the pit of his stomach. Strangers knowing his name never turns out well.

“Harry told me,” the man says, and Eggsy begins to relax. “He also says that you have been outside our shop every day for the past three weeks.”

 _Oh shit_ , is all Eggsy can think, and reaches for his cap, ready to scramble away the first chance he gets. He  _really_  hopes the guy hasn’t called the cops on him for loitering or something. He doesn’t need another incident on his record. Although they would at least feed him in jail, which would be almost worth it. 

“I, ah, it’s jus’ a good place to dance, is all,” Eggsy stammers. “I can-”

The man raises a hand and Eggsy’s mouth snaps shut. “You misunderstand. Harry is, rightfully, it seems, concerned about you. He is currently away on business, but he has asked me to give you this.” The man holds out an envelope.

Eggsy looks at it, and he knows what’s in it. He clenches his jaw and steps back, away from the man.

“I don’t need no charity,” he says, angry. He’d thought Harry was better than that. “I’m doin’ alright on my own.” Inside, he’s raging. Harry fucking Hart, a man like no other, or so he had thought. So nice, so thoughtful, so damned mysterious. Well, here’s the answer to the mystery of why he wanted to talk to Eggsy. And it’s the same as any other asshole with more money than he can spend. _Well, sorry luv, but I ain_ _’t that kind of girl_ , Eggsy thinks. _There are professionals for that._

“Clearly.” The man looks him up and down in that way Eggsy knows means he’s judging him. There might be pity mixed in there, and that just makes his stomach boil. At least Harry never looked at him with pity.

“If you will not take the money,” the man continues, “can I at least offer to buy you dinner?”

“No,” Eggsy says. “I’m fine.” Just then, his stomach growls loudly.

The man raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps you would care to rethink that answer?”

Eggsy stands up straight and looks the man in the eyes. “Like I said, guv. I don’t need no charity.” Then he turns and walks away. The man doesn’t follow him, and part of him is already kicking himself for not taking the money, but damn, all he’s got left is his pride. He’ll earn his own money, thank you very much. Street dancing may not pay well, but at least he could keep himself alive. He didn’t need some rich-ass bloke buying him things. He’s seen enough to know where  _that_  leads, and he won’t be jumping into bed with somebody he doesn’t love, he’s seen where that leads too. 

He goes to bed hungry that night, and has nightmares of Dean killing his mum. 

 

* * *

 

The next day, Eggsy picks a new corner. He makes a decent amount of money, nowhere near what he’d been making in front of the tailor’s shop, but enough for two meals and a bit extra to give to the kid he’s seen sleeping further down his alley the past two nights. He doesn’t think about the tailor’s shop, or Harry, or the man with pity in his eyes. 

Another week passes. He doesn’t go back to the street with the tailors, instead getting up early to steak out a spot near an Indian place and a florist. He does alright, and stubbornly refuses to think about Harry.

Two guys in suits stop to watch him one day, and for a second he thinks one is Harry, until he actually looks at him. Same suits and glasses, but definitely not Harry. One winks at him when he catches him looking, and throws a handful of coins into his hat. They watch another routine, and then the other takes out his wallet and puts a crisp note into the hat, then takes the other by the arm and all but drags him into the Indian restaurant. 

An hour or so later, Eggsy stops to count his money. His hat is full, which is always nice. There’s a lot of coins, a five, a ten, and... holy bloody  _hell_. He stares in shock at the hundred-pound note in his hands. It must have been the suits, he doesn’t think anyone else who passed by looked rich enough to just casually give out hundreds like that. 

He’s still staring when the bloke from down the street, one of those silver-paint living statue guys, comes over for a chat. Quickly, he crumples the note and shoves it in his pocket. When the guy asks how well he’d done that day, Eggsy just shrugs and tells him he did alright. He doesn’t notice when the bloke pulls another guy off to the side, or catch the furtive glances sent his way as they talk. 

As he walks back to his alley, his mind is full of plans for that hundred. He should save it, he thinks. Put it towards eventually getting someplace to stay that isn’t a tent in a run-down alleyway with a bunch of other people with equally shitty situations. He’s tempted to go spend it on a new phone though, or some nice speakers to use in his act. Good speakers might help him bring in even more money, since people would be able to hear his music over something a little better than the crap speaker on his phone. There’s so many possibilities. It’s not enough to get him off the streets, sure, but it’s something.

He never sees them coming. They jump him from behind, push him down, and he feels someone reach for his pockets. He growls and thrusts up with his hips, displacing the guy who’d been sitting on him. In one swift motion he stands and turns, throwing out a leg to trip the one that was right behind him. He raises his fists and does a quick head-count. Five of them. Too many to fight. He does the smart thing, he runs.

His feet have a mind of their own, he’s sure, because he finds himself running away from his alley, further in to town. They chase him. Twice, they catch him, landing punches that split his lip, blacken his eye, and probably break his arm. He gets lucky, throws his own punches with his good arm, kicks, knocks one off a wall. He gets out of range and keeps running, until he ends up on a familiar street. That’s where the catch him and surround him, blocking off any escape. He’s pretty sure that two of them are Dean’s buddies. He goes down fighting. They overwhelm him, and he knows what happens next. He curls into a ball and tries to protect his head as best he can.

And then there’s a roar that echoes down the darkened street. The men are pulled off him by strong hands, thrown backwards, away. He stays down, not knowing what will happen next.

“Eggsy?” a familiar voice asks, and he looks up into the concerned eyes of Harry fucking Hart. 

He recoils instinctively, pushing himself to his feet, away from Harry and his goddamn pity. A sharp stab of pain stops him halfway, and he collapses to the ground once again. His leg is on fire. 

“Eggsy?” Harry asks again, this time gently resting a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder. Eggsy is ashamed to admit it later, but a whimper escapes his lips when he feels the warmth of Harry’s touch.

“Hurts,” is all he can choke out around the suddenly blinding pain. 

“Where does it hurt, Eggsy?” Harry demands. Eggsy’s eyes slide shut, and he really wants to pass out. Harry is having none of it. “Eggsy, come on darling, look at me. Look at me, Eggsy!” He holds Eggsy’s face in both hands, fingers gripping at his hair. Eggsy likes the sound of his voice. 

“Eggsy, Eggsy, where does it hurt? It’s important, you have to tell me.” There’s desperation in his voice now. Eggsy forces his eyes open, to meet Harry’s wild gaze. 

“Leg,” he bites out. “Ribs. Arm. Think it’s broken.”

“Merlin!” Harry barks over his shoulder. “Call James, we’re going to have to take him to medical.”

“Arthur won’t like that, Harry,” another voice cautions, and if Eggsy were more lucid right now, he would be impressed with Harry’s glare. 

“I don’t give one bloody fuck what Arthur would like. It’s closer than the hospital, and he may have internal bleeding.”

Harry picks him up. Eggsy thinks he should be upset about that, but he only manages to be impressed with Harry’s strength. His arms are warm and safe, safer than Eggsy can ever remember feeling, and he allows himself to relax into them.

“Stay with me, Eggsy,” Harry tells him. “Don’t you die on me.”

Eggsy starts to hear him say something else, but it’s fuzzy, like somebody stuffed cotton in his ears. The images in front of him go blurry. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. He doesn’t remember why he needed to keep them open anyway. His breath escapes his lips in a sigh. The world goes dark and silent. His body goes still. His heart stops.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got stuck with plot, which is why this took so long to get out. I might still be a little stuck with where to go from here, so if there's anything you'd like to see, PLEASE let me know!   
> Thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos! You guys are fantastic, and I'm so glad you like my work!  
> This chapter is more Harry-centric. Next time, we'll return to Eggsy's pov.

As the doors to the operating room swing closed behind the Kingsman doctors, Harry turns to Merlin.

“What,” he asks, with ice in his voice “ _happened_ while I was away?” When he’d left, Eggsy had had breakfast with him that morning and had cheefully said he had no plans to move his dancing to a different spot. When Harry returned, it took days to track down the lad, and then the way he’d looked at Harry… He’d tried to stand on a _broken leg_ to get away from him.

Merlin won’t meet Harry’s gaze. “I… may have accidentally given him the impression we wished to buy his, ah, services,” he says, eyes on the doors Eggsy had just vanished behind.

“You _what?_ ” Harry demands, incredulous.

“I did some digging, and it turns out he’s Lee’s son. So I only felt it appropriate that I provide him the funds to get off the streets. He took this as an insult, and fled. I did not get the chance to tell him why I wanted to give him the money.” Merlin glances at the doors. “I see now I should have tried harder to find him.”

Harry sighs. It’s been a nightmare trying to find Eggsy. That first day, three days ago, when he’d returned to the shop after a particularly disastrous mission, he’d been surprised not to find Eggsy in his usual spot, but not concerned. He’d been earlier than normal, after all. But when lunch rolled by and there was still no Eggsy, he’ gotten worried. That’s when he’d asked Merlin about the lad, and found that Eggsy hadn’t been there for some time. It had taken another day and a half to find Eggsy, and then Harry had had to bribe Alistair and James to go on a lunch date and check up on him since Harry was bogged down with paperwork. He’d intended to go himself that evening, but fate, it seems, had other plans.

“I know he’s Lee’s son,” he tells Merlin. He hadn’t, not at first. At first, he’d simply been intrigued by the boy who looked so in love with his dance that the world faded out around him. Watching him dance had been a joy, there had been such grace to his movements, precision, skill. It had made Harry wonder what he would look like with a weapon in his hand. Deadly, he’d decided, and beautiful. The image may or may not have featured in Harry’s private fantasies after that, but he’s not telling.

And then, he had spoken to the lad. There had been pride and caution in equal measure within him, wary of the hand reaching out but also unwilling to show it. He reminded Harry then of a dog that had once been badly beaten, expecting another blow but not totally convinced everyone was out to hurt him. Harry had learned his name, but Eggsy is very adept at redirecting a conversation from information he doesn’t wish to give, and it had taken several days for Harry to pry out the reason he was on the streets. Even then, he still wasn’t sure Eggsy had given him the whole story. That was when he’d pulled a few strings to find out more. By the time he had learned that the dancer outside his shop was actually Lee’s son, he’d already been head-over-heels for the lad. And every conversation just leads him deeper and deeper. It is… disturbing.

“Harry…” Merlin’s cautious call brakes Harry’s train of thought and he glances up at his friend. He appears worried.

“I know he is Lee’s son,” Harry says again, louder. “But he is _not_ ,” he punctuates this with a pointed look at Merlin, “Lee.”

“I understand-” Merlin starts to say. Harry holds up a hand, and he stops.

“No, clearly you don’t,” Harry snaps. “When we offered a position to Lee, he believed the same thing. But he cooled off and came back, gave us another chance. _Eggsy_ however, moved on. And if we hadn’t found him today when we did, we would have lost him.” He refuses to believe they might have lost him anyway. Eggsy _will_ live.

“Aye, but Harry-”

“No, Merlin. When I left, I asked you to take care of him. Buy him breakfast. Leave some money for him. Not enough that he would get suspicious, but enough to get him dinner and maybe something else he needs. I did _not_ ask you to try to solve all his problems with cash. If you’d asked me, I would have told you how it would end. I’ve been watching him for weeks, he’s got too much pride for that. He has to feel like he’s earned it.”

As Harry speaks, Merlin’s eyes go hard, and he finally meets Harry’s challenging gaze. “The lad isn’t one of your projects, Harry,” he says. “You can’t leave him out there like that, not when-”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Harry growls. “But moving fast will get us nowhere. He needs to trust me, and right now he doesn’t. Christ, Merlin, you saw him try to stand on a _broken leg_ to get away from me!”

“Trust or no, ye can’t just leave him on the streets!” Merlin says, voice rising. His accent gets thicker as his anger grows. “It’s no’ safe.”

“And if I just took him in without giving him a choice, he’d run. How is that better?”

“We owe it to Lee, this is his son, we can’t just-”

“HIS NAME IS EGGSY!” Harry shouts. He stops, aware that they _are_ in a hospital, and continues, quieter but no less heated. “His name is Eggsy. He is _not_ just Lee’s son. He’s his own man, and I would be doing this even if he were no relation to Lee whatsoever.”

Merlin pauses, and examines Harry’s face. He frowns, and then his eyebrows raise almost to his hairline. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” he asks.

Harry glares at him, inwardly cursing his friend’s perceptiveness.

“You are,” Merlin states, and it’s not a question. “Harry…”

He lets his shoulders sag, defeated. “It’s not… I didn’t mean…. He… Have you seen him dance?”

“Aye.” Merlin nods. “The lad is talented.”

Two doctors run past them and through the double doors into the operating room, distracting Harry from the conversation. Once again, his eyes fall upon the doors. He can just hear the head surgeon barking commands inside, and his mind fills in the whirs and beeps of all the machines from the countless times he’s been in that room himself. He hates it.

“God, Merlin,” Harry sinks down onto a conveniently placed chair. “What am I going to do if he dies?”

“Drown yourself in cheap alcohol for days and then go on every dangerous mission that comes your way, I expect,” Merlin says without hesitation. Then he sighs, and comes to sit beside Harry. “You’ve known him for less than a month,” he points out. “You’ve gone _years_ without falling in love. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to settle down. Why now? Why Eggsy?”

“Eggsy is special,” Harry says, and then laughs. “God, how trite is that? I sound like a lovesick school-girl. But I do mean it. There’s just something about him that feels… I don’t know. But he has such strength in him. Steel in his spine. He doesn’t give up, not for anything. He’s got too much pride, but it’s all covering so much pain. And he’s kind, Merlin. He has so little, and yet he doesn’t hesitate to help those less fortunate than himself. There was a boy, sleeping in the same alley as him. He was shivering, and clearly starving. Eggsy stopped and gave him some money, enough to get himself dinner in a warm restaurant. He didn’t have anything left to feed himself after that, but he didn’t seem to mind. That was when I started giving him more money for his performances.”

Merlin listens and nods as Harry speaks, a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. “He seems like a wonderful lad,” he says when Harry finishes.

Harry gives him a sad half-smile. “He is,” he says, and looks down. “But you saw how he looked at me earlier. There’s no chance he feels the same.”

“I am sorry,” Merlin tells him, startling Harry. “I hadn’t intended to scare him off. I will do everything in my power to make this right.”

“If he lives,” Harry says.

Merlin tries to sound encouraging. “We’ve seen agents survive worse. Kingsman doctors are the best in London. He’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Harry looks to the doors once more, knuckles white on the arms of his chair. “I hope you’re right, Merlin.” He sighs. “I hope you’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter two will be up in a few days, I promise!


End file.
